Brat
by Avarice
Summary: Egoist. Nowaki gets offended by an unfortunate turn of phrase. I


I just really wanted to write a bit of angst. I suppose it's not that much when you consider it, but I wanted some conflict and angst and Nowaki getting his hackles up. Mission accomplished :) Also... there's something about the repeated use of the term 'brat' that i've read that tends to get _my _hackles up. Another reason for this fic.  
Thank you for betaing, Eike. Always _always_ appreciated.

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**Brat  
A Junjou Egoist fic by Avarice

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"Hiro-san, phone for you!"

Nowaki's announcement stirred Hiroki from his self-imposed daze of grading exams. As thankless as the task was, it disturbed him a little to be interrupted.

"Who is it?" he asked without looking up.

"Usami-san," Nowaki answered, one large hand over the receiver.

Hiroki looked up from his work, pen stopping its furious notations. With a sigh, he took off his reading glasses and placed them on the pile of exams.

One of Nowaki's brows rose slightly when the simple statement grabbed Hiroki's attention so completely, especially as he'd been attempting to convince Hiroki to take a break for the last hour.

Hiroki got up and walked to the phone, procuring it from Nowaki. He took a moment -- hand over the mouthpiece -- to sit on the sofa before putting the handset up to his ear.

"Akihiko," Hiroki's tone was even, but friendly.

Nowaki shook his head slightly, but returned to puttering around the kitchen. He allowed his mind -- usually very aware of anything Hiroki might be saying -- to gently tune him out. There was generally very little Hiroki and Akihiko talked about that interested him, anyway.

Nowaki had come to accept that Usami Akihiko would forever play some role in Hiroki's life. Didn't _like_ it, but accepted it nonetheless. He watched Hiroki laugh derisively at something from the corner of his eye.

As long as he had Hiro-san in his life, and Hiro-san was happy, and Usami-san didn't show up or talk to Hiro-san any more than absolutely necessary -- Nowaki could accept it.

And in doing so, Nowaki could accept the fact that Hiroki wanted and needed him, and preferred him to all oth—

_Smash_

Nowaki looked down at the floor in a slight daze. As his mind had wandered, his hands had gotten careless; a glass wet from being washed in the sink had slipped through his fingers to shatter on the ground.

He flexed his sock-covered feet, now surrounded by glass, and looked up at Hiroki.

Hiroki stood next to the couch, handset still pressed to his ear, mouth slightly ajar and surprised look on his face. Nowaki shrugged apologetically and crouched to begin gingerly picking up some of the larger shards when he heard _it_.

'It' being the most annoying and frustrating statement he could have possibly heard at that juncture in his life.

"What? No, it's ok," Hiroki said into the receiver, an expression of mild irritation on his face, "Just the brat breaking my things."

Nowaki's vision blurred for a few moments, his hand reflexively clenching. Bad idea, as he was holding a number of jagged pieces of glass at that particular moment. In no time at all, one particularly sharp-edged shard sliced into the fleshy part of his palm.

The pain didn't hit straight away, but by the time he got his hand underneath the running tap, it was severe. Still a relatively small pain, however, compared to the damage his ego had taken.

He wrapped a nearby washcloth around his hand to stem the flow of blood. Shuffling his feet along the ground so as not to cut them too, Nowaki made his way out of the danger area. Hiroki had almost gotten distracted enough by the conversation to sit back down, but Nowaki's movement piqued his interest.

_What's wrong?_ he mouthed, clearly still irritated at having his conversation interrupted.

Nowaki couldn't have cared less about the conversation anymore.

"I'm 25 years old," he stated firmly.

"I know _that_-- sorry, Akihiko, not you--"

"I'm 25 years old," Nowaki reiterated, "and I'm not a brat. You don't have to treat me like a child, you know."

Hiroki looked baffled and still somewhat distracted. Nowaki sighed and shook his head, making his way straight to the bathroom. Closing the door behind him, he knelt down in the changing area to look under the sink for a first aid kit.

The room began spinning on its axis suddenly, and Nowaki steadied himself against the wall. Adrenalin and loss of blood were making him a little light-headed; he knew enough not to try getting back up or he ran the risk of passing out.

Instead, Nowaki slid over to the door separating the change room from the shower/bath, steadying his back against it. He sighed and closed his eyes for a few moments, composing himself. The first aid kit contained some cotton wool balls, antiseptic and a clean bandage.

A sharp rap on the bathroom door disrupted his stray thoughts.

"Nowaki?"

Nowaki didn't answer straight away, instead preferring to find the clip that would hold the bandage onto his hand.

The rapping increased in urgency, as did the hitch in Hiroki's voice.

"Nowaki, are you alright? Let me in, please. There's blood on the floor in the kitchen and—"

"The door isn't locked, Hiro-san," Nowaki interjected.

Almost at once Hiroki burst into the bathroom. He looked briefly from side to side before his gaze caught Nowaki on the floor surrounded by medical supplies. He dropped into a crouch immediately, eyes drawn to the bloodied washcloth around Nowaki's right hand.

"It's fine," Nowaki told him, lifting the edge to check whether the bleeding had stopped. It had, for the most part, and Nowaki was relieved. Hiroki prodded at the wound, cringing.

"Doesn't look like there's any glass in there. You need to get cleaned up," Hiroki decided adamantly. He grabbed the antiseptic and cotton wool balls. Before Nowaki could say anything, Hiroki was dabbing antiseptic onto the palm of his hand.

The throbbing pain of the cut crescendoed when it came into contact with concentrated antiseptic.

"That hurt!" Nowaki hissed, drawing his hand back to be cupped by the other protectively.

Hiroki answered Nowaki's glare with a fearsome one of his own. "Don't be a baby. It has to be disinfected and wrapped up."

Hiroki reached straight for the bandage, missing the frigid expression on Nowaki's face, the tic that made the corner of his eye twitch.

"I'll do it," Nowaki said.

"No, I will," Hiroki countered. "You already broke my glass. I won't have you messing anything else up, thanks."

"I _do_ know how to bandage limbs, Hiro-san," he said with a frown. "I've done it many times before."

Hiroki dismissed the comment immediately, unravelling the bandage. "Yeah, but you're only in paediatrics, not emergency medicine." He began to wrap the fabric around Nowaki's palm, who winced.

"So an intern studying paediatrics -- specialising in emergency medicine -- is less qualified to bandage a hand than an assistant professor of literature?"

Nowaki's tone finally registered with Hiroki. He looked up and saw a bitter expression on the taller man's face.

"Of course not... I-- I didn't mean it like that," Hiroki back-pedalled.

"Yes you did. You're doing it again."

"Doing what again?" Hiroki's hands stopped bandaging.

"Treating me like I'm nothing more than a child."

"I don't," Hiroki paused, confident tone faltering. "Do I?"

Nowaki sighed, dropping his injured hand into his lap. The anger and plain _infuriation_ bubbling through his system was exhausting for him to maintain. He honestly didn't know how Hiroki went through so much of the day feeling like that.

"This is our apartment, right Hiro-san?" He began in a gentler tone.

"Yes."

"And we bought those glasses together, didn't we?"

"Yes," Hiroki nodded, but it was plain to see he wasn't sure where the conversation was headed.

"Then why did you tell Usami-san that I'd broken one of _your_ things?"

"I, er..."

"While I'm not as well-off as you, I pull my weight and I contribute to our home. I work hard for us to buy things for our-- _our_ apartment. I'm not 17 anymore, and I'm not a brat."

Nowaki then witnessed the rare event of Kamijou Hiroki -- the most feared lecturer ever to grace the classrooms of M University -- well and truly ashamed.

"I thought you didn't mind being called a brat," Hiroki said softly.

"I don't ordinarily," Nowaki conceded with a tiny smile, "It usually makes me laugh and reminds me of when you used to be my tutor. But when you use it to describe me to Usami-san, it makes me sound like a good-for-nothing kid. Someone who you have to look after and can't take care of himself."

"Akihiko doesn't think that of you--"

Nowaki's uninjured hand reached out to hold Hiroki's. "Usami-san is your childhood friend and wants what is best for you." Nowaki lowered his head slightly to level his blue-grey gaze squarely at Hiroki. "I don't want him thinking for even one second that that isn't _me_."

Hiroki broke eye contact to stare at his lap, face flushed. Long fingers fiddled with the fraying edge of the bandage. Nowaki allowed time for their conversation to sink in, before flexing his fingers.

"You need to be bandaged," Hiroki observed, voice a little husky.

"I do," Nowaki agreed solemnly. He unravelled Hiroki's efforts and put them aside, reaching for a clean bandage. "If you can be my hands, I can tell you how to wrap mine properly."

"I suppose," Hiroki sighed, "even if I am _far_ more knowledgeable in this field than you are."

Nowaki nearly made a sharp comment, but caught the sly curling of Hiroki's lips in time to stop himself.

"And you call _me_ a brat," he muttered, unable to contain his own smile.

FIN


End file.
